


The Last Resort of Good Men

by inquisitor_of_art



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friendship, I love him, M/M, Past Abuse Mentioned, Romance, The Last Resort of Good Men, conversion therapy mentioned, dorian pavus is one of my many fictional BioWare spouses, friendship to romance, not enough for an nsfw tag tho, rewritten mission from DA:I, slight mention of sex things??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 03:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14440860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_of_art/pseuds/inquisitor_of_art
Summary: Cedric Trevelyan is a man who cares deeply, and Dorian is just realising how alike they are. (Or that one time the Inquisitor helped reconcile Dorian with his family and they ended up getting together.)Rewrite of "The Last Resort of Good Men" (Dorian's 'loyalty' mission).





	The Last Resort of Good Men

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to reaching 450 followers on Tumblr back in January, and now that I'm almost at 1k, I decided I would publish it here, too. I'm going to start trying to use AO3 more frequently for my writing. Enjoy!!

Dorian is sat in his usual spot in the library when Cedric walks by; engrossed in his letter, he doesn’t notice the Inquisitor until a hand snaps its fingers in his face once, twice, three times. The mage startles, glaring up at Trevelyan, who is grinning smugly to himself. ‘Got you.’

‘You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?’ Dorian grumbles. But his heart flutters in his chest, his stomach does flips, when Cedric laughs, his piercing, ice blue eyes closing briefly and then shimmering in the dim candlelight when they reopen.

‘Anything interesting? You seem quite preoccupied.’ The warrior places his hands on his hips, and Dorian has to shove down the sensual thoughts of where those hands – large, rough and calloused but ever so delicate, even in battle – would be better suited. With a huff, he stands, moving over to the bookcase. He paces back and forth, thumbing the worn parchment. Cedric leans against the wall, arms now folded over his chest, and Dorian subtly traces the curves of the thick muscles with his eyes over the page.

‘A letter regarding Felix.’

‘Alexius’ son?’ Dorian hums in affirmation. ‘What does it say?’

He’s thankful the Inquisitor is a kind man, willing to listen to any who need to vent. He’s seen too much in his short thirty years to deal with alone, especially when Cedric has made it clear that he wishes to help as many people as he can; but he can’t compare that to the horrors Cedric has endured in an extra thirteen – and most when he was just a child.

‘He went to the Magisterium. Stood on the senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial, I’m informed.’ He has to resist a chuckle when Cedric raises an eyebrow humorously. ‘No news on the reaction yet, but everyone back home is talking. Felix…’ He pauses. ‘…always was as good as his word.’

‘Was?’ Cedric is quiet, tactfully solemn.

Dorian swallows around the lump that’s formed in his throat. ‘He’s dead. The blight caught up with him.’

Cedric pushes himself off the wall, and rests a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. The skin-on-skin contact sends tingles down the mage’s arm, and he shivers imperceptibly. ‘Are you alright?’ the Inquisitor asks softly.

‘He was ill,’ Dorian rationalises, ‘and thus on borrowed time anyhow.’

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t regret his death.’

‘I know.’ A wistful half-sigh, half-chuckle escapes him. He looks up into Cedric’s eyes, smiling. ‘Felix used to sneak me treats when I was working late in his father’s study. “Don’t get into trouble on my behalf,” I’d tell him. “I like trouble,” he’d say.’ Cedric smiles back, a small, lopsided quirk of his plump, lush lips. ‘Tevinter could use more mages like him – those who put the good of others over themselves.’

‘Were the two of you…?’ Cedric muses, trailing off. Dorian’s eyebrows arch in surprise. 

‘Felix and I? What an odd question.’

Cedric huffs, rolling his eyes. ‘Now I feel like an idiot for asking.’ Dorian’s smile broadens in amusement.

‘Don’t. You had every right to ask. But no – I had no intentions of abusing Alexius’ hospitality by seducing his son.’ Cedric raises a single eyebrow again, smirking. ‘Not that I’ve been proper my whole life, by any means. It wasn’t like that. Even in illness, Felix was the best of us.’

‘It almost sounds like you think he was a better person than you.’

Dorian laughs. ‘You’re mad! Few people are better than I am!’ Cedric rolls his eyes again, tilting his head to one side and giving Dorian a knowing look – or withering, he can’t tell. He sighs. ‘Very well, a better person, clearly. But not nearly as handsome!’ That gets another laugh out of the Inquisitor, and Dorian’s heart flutters again. He moves back over to his chair, picking up a book he’d been reading before the letter had arrived. Cedric is about to leave when Dorian says quietly, with a soft smile in the direction of the older man, ‘Thankfully, Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.’

 

* * *

 

He feels anxious when Trevelyan summons him to his quarters, which also double as his office. Work and pleasure, combined into one. He climbs the stairs into the wide, spacious room, and immediately notes that while Cedric hasn’t gone overboard with the décor, it’s clearly meant to be reminiscent of how he’s lived for the past fifteen years, a proud member and kinsmen of an Avvar tribe in the Frostbacks. His eyes find Cedric, who is standing with his back to the fire, a letter in his hand. Dorian blushes when he notices that Cedric is dressed very simply, his usual outfit divested of jacket, over-shirt and gloves. The sleeves of his undershirt are pushed up to his elbows, exposing his hairy, muscular forearms. The neck of the shirt isn’t tied, and this allows Dorian to gain a glimpse of wiry chest hair, and – _oh_ , he’s never really noticed before now, but Cedric has an incredible jawline, enhanced by the scraggly beard he hasn’t shaved or trimmed to an acceptable length lately. He is wearing what the Orlesians call _eyeglasses_ , almost like a dual monocle that rest in a metal frame on his crooked nose. They make his eyes look rather fetching – as if they weren’t already beautiful.

But he is far too aware of the fact that the Inquisitor is getting old; too often has he noticed how Cedric walks with a barely noticeable limp around Skyhold, where the wind whistles through the as-of-yet unsealed cracks in the walls; how his hands shake slightly when reaching for the condiments at breakfast; how he gets out of breath more easily than his comrades; how he surreptitiously tries to rub his lower back and not make it clear that he’s in pain; how he sometimes has to squint to read reports properly. The grey at his temples and in his beard, the heavy bags that are a constant presence under his eyes, the lines around his mouth, across his forehead, the crows’ feet on either side of his eyes – all signs of his age.

And yet, if anything, this all makes him extremely attractive. Dorian never thought he would fall for a man thirteen years his senior, someone who could snap his spine like a branch over his knee if they had been enemies, but every new thing he notices about the Inquisitor, every discovery about Cedric Trevelyan he makes, makes him fall even more head over heels in love with him.

The Iron Bull’s constant teasing about having caught the warrior in the nude, changing after an intense sparring match with Cullen and Cassandra, and seeing just how… _well-endowed_ the Inquisitor is, absolutely do not help matters.

He clears his throat to announce his presence before his mind wanders down _that path_ again. Cedric looks up, a small smile appearing. ‘Afternoon, Dorian.’

‘Afternoon.’ The mage moves closer to Trevelyan, and his heart jumps a little as he notices how Cedric’s gorgeous eyes follow his every movement. ‘It’s almost a shame you asked me to come up here.’

‘Oh?’ 

Dorian hums. Unbidden, his voice takes on a flirtatious tone as he perches on the arm of Cedric’s chair. ‘I could watch you roam Skyhold all day. Here and there you run, checking in on all your followers. Why don’t they come to you? Feed you grapes, rub your shoulders?’ Cedric chuckles, a deep rumble in his throat. ‘But then I suppose it’s more fun that way. For me, I mean.’ Dorian casts an appreciative look in Cedric’s direction. ‘You’re rather strapping, you know.’

‘I’ve noticed you’re rather strapping, yourself.’ Dorian’s heart almost stops in his chest. _Is he… is he flirting with me? Okay, Dorian, play it cool. You’re not a giddy schoolboy infatuated with his teacher._

‘Well, of course you have. That only takes eyes.’ _Phew._  

‘Luckily I have those.’ _Kaffas._

Dorian chuckles, trying to quell his nerves. ‘Ah- you do. A rather fetching pair, too.’ Cedric smiles at him, and the mage is honestly amazed that the Inquisitor can’t hear how loud his heart is pounding. He clears his throat once more, looking away briefly. ‘At any rate, you didn’t ask me up to your quarters to hear me fawn. Something you need?’

Cedric’s expression falls, and he raises the letter he was reading just moments ago. ‘You need to read this.’

Dorian tries to make the situation lighter with some humour, but he can already tell it won’t work. ‘A letter, hmm? Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?’ Cedric winces instead of laughing, glancing to the floor and then back at Dorian. He’s silent for a moment, before he says something Dorian was not expecting; in fact, it’s so unexpected it floors him, makes his brain skid to a halt.

‘Not quite. It… it’s from your father.’

Dorian falls silent. He stares at the letter in Cedric’s hand, repulsed by its presence. When he finally speaks, he sounds emotionless. ‘From my father. I see. And, what does Magister Pavus want, pray tell?’

‘A meeting–’

Dorian snatches the letter out of Cedric’s hand, pacing away from the Inquisitor. He reads the words written on the parchment several times over, his hands shaking with fury. He can feel Cedric’s eyes on him, watching him carefully. Is this why he asked Dorian to come up to his quarters? So that he wouldn’t fly into a fit of rage in public?

‘“ _I know my son_?”’ he hisses indignantly. ‘What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble! This is so– argh! So typical!’ He balls the letter up in his hand, trying to stop the tears brimming in his eyes from falling over his cheeks. Cedric puts his hands on his shoulders, an anchor of light in the crushing dark that’s clouded his mind. Dorian sniffs, angrily wiping under his eyes. ‘I’m willing to bet this _family retainer_ is really just a thug, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.’

‘This could be the Venatori,’ Cedric muses. ‘Lure us somewhere remote, then an ambush?’

‘Perhaps. Though this does look like my father’s penmanship,’ Dorian replies, flattening the letter out to show the Inquisitor. ‘Unless…’ Despite everything that’s happened, every hateful word that’s been exchanged between himself and his parents, Dorian’s heart sinks at the thought that’s just occurred to him. ‘Could he have joined the Venatori? It seems unlikely, but – well, anything’s possible.’ The pair wander out onto the balcony, and it amuses Dorian to see the breadcrumbs in small, unused candle holders for the birds to feed from. They stand in the bracing wind, and Dorian considers letting the parchment blow away on the air currents. He is almost surprised that Cedric isn’t shivering, considering his state of undress, but he has most likely endured worse than a light breeze since leaving the Free Marches in 9:26 Dragon. However, the Inquisitor does wince, rubbing his right knee as it begins to ache.

Dorian finally arrives at a decision. ‘Let’s go. Let’s meet this so-called _family retainer_.’ Cedric looks at him, and Dorian glances back up into his eyes. ‘If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone. You’re good at that.’ Cedric can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at Dorian’s remark; it’s not as if it isn’t true. ‘If it’s not, then I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his concern up his, “wit’s end.”’

Cedric is hesitant to speak, but he asks, possibly for clarification. ‘It seems as though… well, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but is there bad blood between you and your family?’

Dorian laughs bitterly. ‘Interesting turn of phrase. But yes, there is. They don’t care for my choices, nor I for theirs.’

‘Because you wouldn’t get married? Because you left?’

‘That, too.’

Cedric remains silent for a moment, before responding. ‘Let’s go, then. The meeting place is in Redcliffe Village.’ Dorian doesn’t have to guess that Cedric was about to say, _where we first met_.

‘I wonder how much my father paid this man to wait around just in case I showed?’ He sighs. ‘I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’

 

* * *

 

A two-day journey to the Hinterlands by horse behind them, Dorian and Cedric arrive at Redcliffe Village, leaving their mounts in the village stables, the Inquisitor paying handsomely for the mares to be fed, brushed and re-saddled by the time the duo are finished in the Gull and Lantern tavern. They walk together, side by side – occasionally their arms brush against each other, and Dorian’s breath catches in his throat.

Cedric pushes the door of the tavern open; it is unusually quiet, so whoever they’re supposed to be meeting has clearly paid for the bar to be deserted, allowing for private conversation. They look around the room, and the silence is suffocating.

‘Uh-oh, nobody’s here,’ Dorian murmurs. ‘This doesn’t bode well.’

He turns back to Cedric, but the warrior has clearly seen something, as he calls out, ‘Who’s there?’

The next voice to speak is neither Dorian’s or Cedric’s, but is one that the mage hasn’t heard for almost a year and a half now. ‘Dorian.’ 

He slowly turns around to face Halward Pavus. ‘Father.’

Father and son stare at one another for a short while, Cedric hanging back so that he doesn’t interfere. Dorian’s face contorts into a snarl. ‘What is this, then, father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?’

‘So, you were told.’ Halward looks over Dorian’s shoulder at Cedric, who has folded his arms over his chest with a deep frown. ‘I apologise for the deception, Inquisitor, I never meant for you to be involved.’

Dorian can’t help himself as he snaps at his father. ‘No, of course you didn’t, because Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor, now, could he?’

Halward sighs, looking to the floor. His hands fidget nervously together. ‘This is how it has always been…’

He’s interrupted by Cedric this time. ‘Yes, well, considering you lied to Dorian to get him here, your son has every right to be angry.’

‘You don’t know the half of it!’ Dorian cries, his fists clenched by his sides. ‘You don’t know what I’ve been through! But maybe you should!’

‘Dorian, there’s no need–’ Halward tries to insert himself into the conversation again, but Dorian’s voice, quiet though it is, grabs Cedric’s attention.

‘I… I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.’

Cedric blinks once, twice, then frowns even more, if possible. ‘Is that a big deal in Tevinter? The idea that men and women can enjoy sex with their own gender as well as the opposite? If so, my aunt and uncle would fit in pretty damn well.’

Dorian’s eyes widen. It’s the first time Cedric’s ever mentioned his family, the family that disowned him, anywhere other than Skyhold, and to anyone other than himself and Josephine. The mage smirks at the Inquisitor. ‘You mean to tell me the blessed Herald of Andraste has cavorted with men? I am shocked and scandalised!’

‘Such sarcasm.’

‘You’re not so subtle yourself, oh Lord Inquisitor,’ Dorian purrs.

Before Cedric can respond, Halward groans. ‘I should have known that’s what this was about.’

Dorian snaps back around to face his father, snarling once more. ‘No! You don’t get to make those assumptions! You know nothing about the Inquisitor!’

‘This is not what I wanted!’ Halward snaps.

Dorian shouts back, hurt and broken. ‘I’m never what you wanted, father! Or had you forgotten?’

‘But why?’ Cedric’s question is quiet, and both the Tevinter mages turn back to look at him. The warrior glances up and makes eye contact with Dorian. ‘Why is it such a big deal?’

Dorian scoffs. ‘It’s only a problem if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard. Every Tevinter family is inter-marrying to distil the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind! The perfect leader.’ His fists clench once more. ‘It means that every perceived flaw, every aberration, is deviant and shameful! It must be hidden!’

For the first time since revealing his presence, Halward is silent. He looks down to the floor, with an expression akin to feeling ashamed.

‘So that’s what all this is about?’ Cedric asks. ‘Who you sleep with?’

‘That’s not all this is about…’ Dorian mutters in response.

‘Dorian, please – if you’ll only listen to me!' 

‘Why?’ The youngest man in the room steps threateningly towards his father. ‘So you can spout more convenient lies?’ The two Pavus men stare at each other, anger burning deep within Dorian’s eyes. But when he speaks, he’s talking to Cedric. ‘He taught me to hate blood magic! He called it, “ _the resort of the weak mind._ ” Those are his words!’ He doesn’t see him, but Dorian knows the Inquisitor has stepped forward, prepared to hold Dorian back if he tries to attack his father. ‘But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to–’ His voice wobbles, tears beginning to stream down his face. ‘–tried to _change me_!’

‘I only wanted what was best for you!’

‘You wanted the best for you!’ Dorian sobs, his voice thick with tears. ‘For your _fucking_ legacy! Anything for that!’

Before he knows what’s happening, Dorian can feel Cedric turning him around and grabbing him in a hug. He stops dead for a moment as his mind tries to process what’s happening; his nose is buried into the curve between Cedric’s neck and his shoulder, and his senses are flooded with all of Cedric – his scent, how his arms feel curled around his waist, and he’s crying into the Inquisitor’s shoulder, the shoulder of a man who has proven time and time again that he cares about everyone, that perhaps at times he cares too much, and that he would willingly give his life to save the world from the threat of Corypheus. (Though, of course, Dorian hopes it won’t come to that.)

Cedric’s breath brushes past his ear as he speaks. ‘Don’t leave it like this, Dorian. You’ll never forgive yourself.’ They pull back from one another, and Dorian gazes into Cedric’s eyes as the warrior nods at him, smiling softly. The Inquisitor lets him go, and Dorian can’t help feeling pleased at the fact that Cedric apparently doesn’t want to let go. He turns back towards his father, eyes still damp with tears but his voice clear.

‘Tell me why you came.’

Halward sighs. ‘If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition–’

‘You didn’t!’ Dorian interjects, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do!’ He pauses, gathers his thoughts. ‘Once,’ he murmurs, turning away from his father for what feels like the last time, ‘I had a father who would have known that.’ Halward doesn’t speak as Dorian walks away, but just as he reaches the door, his father’s wistful, sad voice comes from behind him.

‘Once, I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed.’ Dorian turns back to face his father, his eyebrows raising in shock. ‘I only wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.’

Dorian swallows around the lump in his throat that has formed at his father’s heartfelt plea, but he turns to Cedric. The Inquisitor simply smiles, indicates with his head, and leaves the tavern.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later, Dorian leaves the tavern. He’s glad to be out in the fresh air, to be able to breathe clearly, even as his mind reels from the most heartfelt conversation he and his father have ever had. Immediately, he looks around for Cedric, but even though he can’t see the Inquisitor anywhere, he can hear him, and the sound of his voice sends shivers down his spine. He follows Cedric's dulcet tones, and finds him conversing with an elderly elf. As he draws closer, he's able to make out more of their conversation.

‘...I can deliver the flowers to Senna's shrine for you.’ Cedric says something else – possibly in elven – and the elf smiles at the Inquisitor.

‘Thank you, sir. Not many shems show as much consideration to our kind as you have, and fewer speak our language. But you've shown an old man some kindness in these dark days. Thank you. I know my Senna would be pleased.’ Cedric bows to the elf, spots Dorian over his shoulder, and departs with a smile. He walks back over to the mage, the pair starting to make their way back to the stables to collect their mounts.

‘So...’ Cedric starts quietly. Dorian looks over at him as the stable hand untethers the mares, bringing them over to the Inquisitor and himself. ‘How did it go?’

Dorian looks down to the floor, his hand absentmindedly stroking his mount's neck. ‘Not here,’ he requests, and Cedric understands, falling silent.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, back at Skyhold, Dorian makes his way back up to Cedric's quarters. He sees the Inquisitor standing on the balcony, one hand outstretched and filled with breadcrumbs. Birds flit down, perch on his forearm, peck at the food in his palm. Dorian smiles, making his way out onto the balcony to stand near to Cedric. The older man looks at him, and waits for Dorian to speak.

The mage leans on the parapet, watching the people milling around the stables far below them – he can even see Blackwall chopping logs (probably to carve into more wooden griffons, he muses). The serene atmosphere of Skyhold is soothing.

‘He says we’re alike,’ he finally says. Cedric moves closer, and Dorian notices that, once more, he is dressed very simply – his usual trousers and boots, with just a loose shirt with a short-sleeved, fur-collared jacket over the top, and bandages tightly wrapped around his right wrist after training with Bull and his second-in-command – Krem, was it? – had ended in him spraining it. However, he still wears the signet with his family’s crest on it – a gift from Josephine for his forty-fourth birthday – on his right index finger. ‘Too much pride. Once, I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now…’ Cedric turns to face him, leaning on the parapet and crossing his hands loosely in front of his waist.

‘Now?’

Dorian sighs. ‘Now, I’m not so certain.’ He looks at the Inquisitor with sad eyes. ‘I don’t know if I can forgive him.’

Cedric is quiet for a moment, before he asks, ‘He tried to… change you?’

Dorian looks down to the tiles beneath their feet, a sour look on his face. ‘Out of desperation. I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavoury private and locked away.’ He chuckles bitterly, lifting his head to look out to the horizon. ‘Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside.’ He feels Cedric’s hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing it and sending warmth flowing through his body from that one spot.

‘Are you sure he didn’t understand?’ the Inquisitor asks tentatively, and Dorian whips around to stare at him incredulously. Immediately, Cedric holds his hands up, alarmed by the mage’s speed and the ferocity in his expression.

‘He was going to do a blood ritual! Alter my mind! Make me… acceptable.’ Dorian frowns, looking away once more. ‘I found out. I left.’

The pair are silent for a short time, the seconds dragging by as Dorian’s words hang in the air. Cedric eventually clears his throat, and wonders aloud, ‘Can blood magic actually do that?’

Dorian rests a hand back on the parapet with another heavy sigh. ‘Maybe? It could also have left me a drooling vegetable.’ He closes his eyes, blocking everything out from view. ‘It crushed me to think that he found that… _absurd_ risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it.’

‘Of course…’

‘If he had… I can’t even imagine the person I would be now. I wouldn’t like that Dorian.’ Dorian reopens his eyes, and glances up at the Inquisitor, who has tentatively moved back towards the mage.

‘Are you alright?’

Dorian smiles sadly. ‘No. Not really.’ They turn back to look over the Inquisition’s stronghold; merchants and potential buyers haggling over prices, soldiers training, guards patrolling the battlements, healers helping the wounded and sick. There’s still lots of work left to do before Skyhold is fully repaired, but the changes from when they first arrived are definitely visible. Fewer roofs have holes, and not as many walls are crumbling around them. Dorian looks back at the Inquisitor, who continues to gaze over his castle, the lives he’s responsible for, and the mage knows that Thedas couldn’t have a better protector, a better advocate. Despite his age, despite everything he’s been through in his life, despite every unsavoury thing the Orlesians and Fereldens would happily string him up for, Cedric Trevelyan is a man who is honourable, fighting with the people _for_ the people. He takes the time to make sure everyone in the Inquisition is happy and proud to work for him, whether that be gathering materials for medicine and craftsmen, training with the soldiers, or helping the researchers do their bit by bringing them things from their many foes to study.

Dorian knows for certain that he’s fallen in love.

‘Thank you for bringing me out there,’ he says quietly, and Cedric turns toward him with a smile. ‘It… it wasn’t what I expected, but… it’s something.’ Dorian chuckles lowly, looking away from the Inquisitor’s piercing gaze. ‘Maker knows what you must think of me now…’ 

Cedric’s reply stuns him. ‘I don’t think less of you. More, if possible.’

Dorian swallows nervously, looking back into Cedric’s eyes with a blush creeping over his face. ‘The things you say…’ His heart melts in his chest as Cedric smiles and chuckles, with just the barest flash of his teeth.

‘I mean it!’

‘My father never understood,’ the mage croaks, backing away from the parapet; but Cedric follows him, and Dorian watches his lips fervently as they quirk into his favourite lopsided smile. ‘Living a lie… it festers inside of you like poison.’ His breath hitches in his throat when his back hits the wall behind him. Cedric draws closer, and Dorian has to resist moaning when the Inquisitor puts his hands on his waist. Their faces are incredibly close, and Dorian notices – for the first time – the freckles dotted over Cedric’s nose, the way the scar over his right eye becomes less intense the further down his cheek it gets, how his eyes have small flecks of silvery-grey deep within those icy blue depths, even as his right eye is slowly blinded with age and his injury. ‘You have to…’ he whispers, his eyes lidded as Cedric smiles softly, sensually, ‘…have to fight for what’s in your heart.’

‘I agree,’ Cedric breathes, his breath brushing over Dorian’s mouth. And suddenly, their lips are crushed together, Dorian lifting his arms to wrap them around Cedric’s shoulders; one of Cedric’s hands moves up to cup his face, while the other moves around to his lower back, and Dorian does moan now, especially when Cedric sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, the entire kiss sending fierce tingles through his body.

It feels as though the kiss ends as quickly as it began, and Dorian whines as Cedric draws back, missing the intimate contact between them. They press their foreheads together, Inquisitor and mage gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

‘I see you enjoy playing with fire, Inquisitor…’ Dorian purrs, nudging one leg between Cedric’s. The warrior smirks, both of his hands moving down to Dorian’s ass and pulling his lower body forward so that it’s flush against his own.

‘Give me several hours, a bed, and some rope, and I’ll show you how much I can _play_ with fire.’ Dorian moans again, rubbing his nose against Cedric’s and pressing a butterfly light kiss to his lips.

‘It’s a tempting proposition…’ he whispers in return, and, just as Cedric is about to kiss him again, pulls back with a grin. ‘…but I believe you have an important meeting with your advisors about getting into the Winter Palace in a few minutes.’ Cedric groans in disappointment, and Dorian giggles.

‘…you’re a wicked man, Dorian Pavus.’

‘But I’m yours.’


End file.
